Seeking Refuge

by Alana Terry

  Alexa smiled at him. “As much as I love dragon movies, I’ve been looking forward to this one for a week. My publicist, Elise, told me it was funny, just romantic enough to fit the genre, and as heartwarming as It’s a Wonderful Life.”

  Joe didn’t respond. The lights dimmed and the old-fashioned curtains drew aside with a sweeping motion that for the first time since he’d lived there, seemed elegant rather than cheesy. Perhaps the fedora beside him lent the movement some sort of panache.

  Alexa rolled her eyes at the inappropriate previews that flashed on the screen. He met her gaze over Sarah’s head and mouthed, “How can they show this stuff in a PG movie?”

  Alexa shrugged, mouthing back, “I always forget how bad they are—with a child...”

  Sarah interrupted the silent conversation by bouncing in her seat. “Mommy said we could go see that one at Granny’s. It comes out the day after Christmas!”

  Joe missed the next preview. His eyes were riveted on Alexa’s heartbroken face. He pulled a few mints from the overpriced box of candy he held and passed them over Sarah’s shoulders to her. Alexa gave him a weak smile. “Thanks.”

  She removed her hat and fingered it for a moment before handing it to him. “Can you put that next to yours? It’s a little too warm with it.”

  Sarah jerked hers off her head and handed it to him as well. “I was hot too, but I didn’t want to complain.” Joe and Alexa exchanged amused smiles at the tone of virtue in the girl’s voice.

  The opening scene captured their attention, but ten minutes into the movie, Sarah snuggled against Joe—the armrest between them pushed up and out of the way. Alexa mouthed an apology, but Joe patted her shoulder as if to say, “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

  The storyline grew bittersweet. He couldn’t help but notice when Alexa pulled a handkerchief from inside her muff and dabbed her eyes. She would still use handkerchiefs.

  Again, he patted her shoulder in an attempt to commiserate with her. Alexa glanced across the short space between them and smiled. “I’m so irritatingly emotional about books and movies,” she hissed.

  After he gave her shoulder another squeeze, Alexa reached up and hooked Joe’s hand into hers. It wasn’t a romantic gesture. Joe knew exactly why she did it and agreed. The movie seemed to encourage that sort of contact.

  A soft snore followed by a snort sent them into a fit of giggles and chuckles at an inopportune moment in the movie. While the few other moviegoers swallowed lumps in their throats or wiped tears from their eyes, Joe and Alexa fought to keep their chortles from turning into guffaws. Behind them, an elderly woman muttered in a stage whisper, “People have no sense of feeling anymore.”

  As the credits rolled, Joe and Alexa watched Sarah sleep. Though the girl was small, Joe couldn’t carry her two blocks back to his car. “I hate to wake her,” he whispered.

  Alexa shifted, her eyes traveling to their hands, letting go with a slight blush. “Oh, I didn’t realize I still had you trapped.”

  “Do we wake her up? Maybe you could go get my car and I could carry her out?”

  Alexa reached for his keys and slipped her cape over her shoulders. He watched as she adjusted her hat and skipped down the steps and around the corner. How did she always seem so comfortable being so different from anyone around her? Despite anything he might have thought previously, Joe knew it wasn’t a ploy for attention—still, he couldn’t help but wonder why she never seemed to be out with someone...special.

  Sarah stirred, halting his thoughts. He gazed at her and wondered what it would be like to have a child dependent upon you for food, clothing, education, and a roof over her head. A child looked to parents for guidance and needed it even more when he didn’t seek his parents’ advice. How did people make the decision to have children? Declaring war on an ally seemed an easier decision.

  The girl shifted again, this time moving away from him to rest where Alexa had been sitting. He stood, stretching as he did, and made eye contact with the elderly woman behind them. The credits finished and the room emptied—except for the three of them.

  “Um, are you all right, ma’am?”

  The woman glared at him. “I’m fine.”

  “Can I help you with something?”

  Her voice lowered to an almost inhuman sound. “You can take that child out of here.”

  “I intend to,” he muttered, pulling on his coat. He eased one of Sarah’s arms into a sleeve of her coat. “Man, I hate to wake her up. How do parents do it?”

  “Where is the woman who was with you—Alexa Hartfield, wasn’t it?”

  Joe nodded and picked up their hats. He’d never get Sarah’s on her head. As rude as it was to put his hat on inside, Joe did it before leaning down to pick up Sarah. “She went to get the car.”

  “That’s not her child—is she yours?”

  “No,” Joe wondered at the woman’s curiosity. Who asked questions like that? “We just borrowed her for the night.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits that pierced. “What are you doing with that child?”

  His patience shot, Joe shifted Sarah as he shuffled to the end of the row. “Alexa is just watching her for the evening so I took them out. They’re going home. I’m going home—unless I get called in for duty.”

  “Duty where?”

  “The police station,” he growled. “I am Officer Jordan Friedan, and this interrogation is over.”

  He reached the aisle and gingerly made his way down the steps. Halfway, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Without turning to face his tormentor, he snapped, “What else can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted to apologize. I recognize you now—you’re the nice one who waves at everyone when you’re on the beat, aren’t you? You even came to my neighbor’s house when someone broke her window—turned out to be the Wyler boy.”

  “Over on Devon Court?”

  “Yes.” She dropped her eyes to Sarah’s face. “I was just watching one of those news shows tonight—all about how little girls get abducted all the time and how people are too trusting with their children. With the murders and—well, I guess I took it all a little too seriously.”

  All irritation fizzled. As annoying as it had been, she meant well. Too many don’t care. “You know what, thank you—really. That someone cared enough to make sure she was safe—too many people wouldn’t have even bothered. I’m sorry I got short with you.”

  The woman smiled—he recognized that smile. Mrs. Delaney who brought cookies to the station every Christmas and Easter. “You have a Merry Christmas, Officer Joe. I hope things work out between you and Miss Hartfield.”

  Before he could correct her, the older woman slipped past him and down the steps. He groaned inwardly as he glanced back at Sarah and realized that she’d heard part of the conversation. He set her down and said, “Since you’re awake, I’ll let you walk.” Joe handed Sarah her hat. “You might want this on when we get outside.”

  “Are you dating Miss Lexie?”

  He almost stumbled over his feet. She didn’t wait to ask awkward questions. As they rounded the corner and stepped into the lobby, he saw Alexa through the glass doors. He had to get her on another subject and fast. “No, we’re just friends. Did you see much of the movie?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I don’t remember any of it. Why was that old lady mad at you?”

  Joe pushed through the doors and shivered as the night air blasted through his unbuttoned coat. Sarah whimpered.

  “Cold, isn’t it? You get in and buckle up. We’ll get you to Miss Hartfield’s soon.”

  Once Alexa and Joe climbed in, Sarah spoke again, something in her tone making Joe nervous. “Miss Lexie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I just realized that this was my first date.”

  Joe breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled. Alexa laughed before saying, “You have a taste for older men.”

  “How old are you, Mr. Friday?”

  Joe choked. He chose not to correct her a
nd answered. “I’m thirty-seven.”

  “Miss Lexie’s only thirty-three, so that means she has a taste for older men too. She’s even gone out with the police chief, and he must be at least eighty!”

  He watched as Alexa struggled not to laugh. Before he could correct the girl, she said, “Our Chief of Police turned fifty-five exactly four months ago. I was at the party. However, I think both he and Friday would be surprised to discover that their names were linked with mine as potential dating material. The chief, especially, would have some explaining to do.”

  “Why?”

  Joe winked at Sarah in the rearview mirror. “His wife might not like it.”

  Chapter 15

  ALEXA STARED AT THE light fixture before unlocking her front door. While Joe and Sarah shivered beside her, she stared at it, confused, and then glanced back at the streetlight that should have shone slightly on her front porch. “I can’t remember if I turned on that light—”

  She stumbled over a box as she entered her house. “What in the wor—”

  Joe reached out, stopping her from picking up the box. “Don’t touch it. Walk around the box and go over to the other side of the room, Sarah.”

  Alexa helped Sarah in, listening as Joe pulled out his phone and pushed a button. She glanced at him, questioning, but before he could respond, someone on the other end answered. “—send out a couple of people and a crime scene kit.” While he spoke, he pointed to the light switch.

  It was on.

  Furious, Alexa sprang into action. She hustled Sarah into the guest room and helped the girl change into fleece pajamas with some diva plastered all over the legs. As a distraction, she rolled Sarah’s hair in foam-covered “rag rollers” while Sarah ate a cookie and drank milk. The girl brushed her teeth, washed her face, and put her clothes away, before Alexa tucked her into bed. As she started to close the door, Sarah’s voice whispered through the semi-darkness, “Are you safe, Miss Lexie?”

  She opened the door wider so Sarah could see her face. “Do you think Joe would let anything or anyone hurt either of us?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think God can protect us from anything and everything?”

  Sarah’s voice sounded slightly less confident as she whispered, “Yes.”

  “Then I’d say we’re very safe, wouldn’t you?”

  “I guess... but I bet if you acted more scared he might kiss you.” That prospect seemed to brighten the girl’s thoughts.

  Alexa rolled her eyes and prayed that Joe hadn’t heard. “Good night, Sarah.”

  She saw the lights of the cruiser as she walked past the wide-open front door. Joe sat hunkered on his heels, inspecting the box but not touching it. He looked like an old-time detective in his coat, hat, and suit, poking at a box with a pen.

  “And to think I almost picked it up.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought anything about it if you hadn’t commented on the light.”

  Alexa sighed. “What do you think is in it? This is both good and bad, right? Good that he’s deviating and focusing on me and bad because he’s deviating and focusing on me.”

  Nodding, Joe added, “Poison is traditionally considered a feminine choice for murder weapons, though. It could be a she.”

  “And here I try to avoid that because it’s supposedly stereotype.”

  Joe gave her a bemused look. “Only authors trying to avoid cliché forget that there are reasons that stereotypes become stereotypes.”

  Officers Martinez and Crane swept the lawn with their flashlights before they climbed her steps. Crane looked into the light fixture, but there was no broken glass. Martinez, directed by Joe, moved to the streetlight to see if there was glass beneath it. “Yep!” he called. “Definitely shot out. Probably something light—like a 22 or something.”

  Judith Crane pulled on latex gloves and picked up the wrapped box, moving it to Alexa’s dining room table. “It looks like a box of roses or something. Do you have an admirer, boyfriend, grateful reader, father, stalker? Something like that?”

  Alexa shook her head. “No one that would send flowers, no.”

  She watched as they used bomb detectors to ascertain if the box was rigged. “Do you really think there’s a bomb in there? How can Fairbury afford—”

  “After 9/11, Rockland sent these out to every town within fifty miles. We barely made the cut.”

  “But you think it could be a bomb. Really? She hoped her skepticism wasn’t going to irritate the officer, but it seemed too crazy to be possible.

  “If I really thought it was a bomb, I would have called Rockland for a bomb squad and dogs—just being careful.” Judith set the detector aside. “Ok, I think we can open it.”

  “Open away.” Joe’s snicker beside her told Alexa that her impatience amused him.

  As they pulled aside the paper, putting it into evidence bags for later processing, Judith removed the top of a florist’s box. Everything seemed normal—festive even—until they unfolded the interior tissue paper. Joe stepped closer to Alexa and she sank into the nearest chair. Judith looked puzzled and twisted the little shovel to see if there was anything written on it.

  Martinez just laughed. “I guess someone doesn’t like your writing. How funny!”

  Alexa’s nerves twisted to the snapping point. What had once been pure anger morphed into raw fear as she stared at that shovel. The killer had made this one personal—somehow. “Is there a note anywhere?”

  Judith shook her head. As her eyes flitted back and forth between Joe and Alexa, she leaned against the chair back. “When did you write this?”

  Alexa’s hands shook. Joe rubbed her shoulder—absently it seemed—and shook his head at Judith. “She didn’t. This isn’t what she wrote.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I wrote what I thought couldn’t be done,” Alexa explained. “The killer just called my bluff.”

  Joe nodded, agreeing. “This is personal.”

  “When did she write her version?”

  Joe stared at his phone as if he’d taken notes on her movements, but she knew he hadn’t. “Around three... I shut her laptop sometime around five, I think. We left just after six.”

  Judith’s next question stunned Alexa. “Should they leave?”

  She interrupted before Joe could answer. “I’m not going. It’s almost Christmas, and I’m not spending it in a hotel. I’ll call Heather, though. We need to get Sarah out of here.”

  “Tell her I’ll bring Sarah over in a minute.”

  Alexa nodded and punched Heather’s number on her phone. It took several rings for the woman to answer. “Heather? Hey, I’m sorry—no, Sarah’s fine. She’s asleep. I just have to—what?”

  Alexa rolled her eyes at Judith as she listened to her neighbor. “I’m sorry, but I have to bring her home. Do you see the police lights out there? That’s my house. It’s not safe here.” She listened to a few more seconds of complaints before she said, “Heather, it’s not an option. I’m not risking your daughter’s safety. Send the guy home or explain—never mind. Joe is going to carry her. We’ll be there in two minutes.”

  Judith’s expression was more of a question than a statement. “And...”

  “Her daughter’s safety is in question and she’s bummed because her little ‘sleepover’ is disturbed. I don’t understand people!”

  Joe returned sans Sarah. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t wake her up and she keeps rolling over and curling up in the blankets. I can’t get her out.”

  “Wrap her up in them and take it all. I’m going with you”

  “You shouldn’t, but—”

  “Well, I am.” As she spoke, she pulled on her cape again, waving him off to get the girl. She carried Sarah’s things while Joe carried a well-wrapped Sarah down the steps and onto the sidewalk. “Careful—Mrs. Malone lets her hose drip off the lawn all winter so her ‘pipes don’t freeze’ and it makes a dangerous ice patch right at the corner of the yard.”

  Heather stood s
hivering in her doorway, wrapped in a silky robe that covered little and warmed nothing—her irritation evident. Alexa’s call had obviously been a most unwelcome fire extinguisher.

  “Where is her room?” Alexa stepped past Heather as though entering another person’s home without even a hint of an invitation was the height of courtesy. She had to or she’d cry.

  Heather slammed the door shut behind Joe and led the procession to Sarah’s room. Stepping inside the door, they were attacked by a nightmare of modern pre-teen idolism. Pop singers, teen actors and actresses, and a gymnast hung on the walls as a testimony to the girl’s dreams. Clothes littered every surface as if Sarah had tried on every outfit she owned. Dismayed, Alexa realized that she probably had.

  Alexa pulled Sarah’s covers over the footboard and gestured for Joe to lay her on the bed and leave the covers. To Heather she whispered, “I’ll get the blankets from you after you get back—no reason to put her under cold covers.”

  Still seething, Heather nodded silently. Joe pushed the women from the room, closing the door behind him. At the front door, Alexa stepped outside and started home again, but Joe turned and caught the door as Heather tried to shut it. “Look, you might not like that your plans were ruined, but you really should think about what’s important. A murderer left a threat at a home where your child was supposed to sleep. Your child’s friend is going back to that home, placing herself in danger.”

  “She could leave.”

  “Yes, but I suspect part of her reason,” Joe said with deliberate calmness, “is so that the focus of the criminal remains on her instead of being transferred elsewhere—like you or your daughter. Don’t be so petty.”

  Heather’s eyes narrowed. “If you play with murder, you shouldn’t be surprised if you get yourself killed.”

  He jumped as the door slammed in his face. As he turned, he found Alexa staring at him from the sidewalk. He hurried to her side, unwilling to have her out alone and exposed. As they walked, he told her what Heather had said. “Do you think it’s at all possible for Heather to be doing this?”